


Not as a Doll

by Liadt



Category: Henry VI - Shakespeare, Henry VI Part 2 - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I fear me, love, if that I had been dead,<br/>Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not as a Doll

Margaret had stopped weeping for Suffolk. Her red-rimmed eyes were fading to a sore pink. An absence of tears did not mean her sorrowing had finished. Henry’s heart sank like a lead weight in his chest to witness her in such a state. Moreover, had he not suffered a loss? Grief had taken his Queen from him. Her self-indulgent wallowing was wearying. Henry valued harmony: it was difficult to hold his tongue and keep a peaceful atmosphere when Margaret was fixated with mentioning Suffolk’s presence had kept away all ill, whenever something went awry. 

Although he was no longer a naïve youth who mistook a sweet smile for an expression of true love, he had found Margaret to be a fair companion and a devoted mother to their son. He was certain Margaret’s love for their son would pull her out of her misery. Henry needed her back. She knew what course to take, when he was assailed by uncertainty. Other people always knew what to do. He relied on her strength to help him rule. Most would find that admission against the role women should play as the weaker sex, but perhaps it suited God for their marriage to be that way. For had not _He_ blessed their union with a fine, healthy son to eventually be king? It was not a father’s pride to say he was better made than his parents. Not all could claim the same for their progeny.

He would remind Margaret of their blessings tomorrow, thought Henry and stretched out his arm to pinch the flame of the candle burning next to his bed. He stifled a cry of pain. His fingers hurt; they were already burnt. He had been holding his fingers over the flame for longer than seconds judging by the burn. How long had he been sat in that position? Often, it seemed, when he looked out of the window in the morning he delighted in the scent of the blossom blooming on the trees, heralding the coming of spring and then when he next gazed out the trees were shedding their leaves, and braziers were being taken out of storage. He should worry that these lapses were becoming more frequent, but he could not find the feelings to care. When his Margaret came back, he could disappear. It was enough to be the King; the rest could be left to others. He could not go out into England until he and the country matched each other. Stopping was the best remedy.


End file.
